Trust and Love Are Two Different Things
by Schizzar
Summary: Peter's falling apart at the seams, and he doesn't know how to stop it. Matt will do his best to help, but maybe they're both too damaged to love. Trust? Trust they can do. Prequel to Routinely Rejecting Happiness.


**Finally, the prequel to Routinely Rejecting Happiness, detailing how Peter and Matt became, for lack of a better word, fuck buddies. This doesn't end with a happy emotional conclusion, but it does have a happy ending for what it's worth. I hope you enjoy, reviews are loved, I don't own Marvel. **

"I can take care of myself," Peter said, watching as Daredevil let the unconscious mugger drop to the ground.

"Yes but that would require blowing your identity. Thought I'd save you the trouble." Daredevil's nun-chucks twirled out of sight. "Pulling in some overtime at your normal job?"

"Yeah, now that Jameson's actually _hired_ me," Peter said. "You should get back to work. I'll join you once I have a chance to change."

He turned away, continuing on down the alleyway, only to have a tight cord wrap around his wrist and pull him back. It always unnerved him how Matt was able to look right at him despite his blindness. He knew it had something to do with the powers he gained from the loss of his vision, but they weren't close enough for Matt to give over the secret of how it worked.

"You should get some rest. Your body is fatigued."

"I'm fine." Peter brushed the white cord away and stepped back.

Matt just stared at him, lips pressed in a straight, hard line. But it wasn't like Peter was trying to convince him that he wasn't lying to his face. He just wanted to go home and get back out on the street.

"I'll see you later," Peter said.

It was frustrating, listening to Matt lecture him. Like he could talk. In court all day, then fighting crime at night. He did more work than Peter, so why lecture him about overworking? It wasn't like he understood what it was Peter was trying to do.

Peter climbed the stairs of the apartment building to the 14th floor, cursing, not for the first time, whoever had decided elevators weren't worth it. He had moved out of Aunt May's house after Gwen had died, three years ago. Part of him was paranoid that if he kept living there, he'd lose Aunt May too and he'd have no one left. Sure, the apartment was crap, his pay from the Daily Bugle worse, but Aunt May was safe and that was the most important thing.

When he opened his door, Johnny was stretched out on the couch, a case of beer on the coffee table, and an episode of Star Trek flickering on the TV. Sighing, he dropped his bag on the floor and shut the door.

"Why are you here?" he asked, walking to the couch and shoving the blond's feet away so he could sit down next to him.

"A little birdy told me you could use the night off," Johnny said, kicking a beer towards him.

"You realize I have work tomorrow and can't get drunk right?" Peter asked.

"Shut up, you're Spider-man. Takes a billion beers to get you plastered," Johnny said. His foot tapped at the beer can. "So drink up. It's not gonna kill you."

"Yeah, I can't," Peter said. "I was going to go out tonight, do some work."

"And I'm under orders to keep you in and have you in bed by midnight," Johnny said, propping his feet up across Peter's lap.

"How do you know Daredevil?"

"Fought with us a few times. And no, before you ask, I don't know what his identity is. He said you know though," Johnny said, putting his empty can on the table and grabbing another. "Said he ran into you on your way home, that you needed rest but weren't going to take it without some persuasion."

"I can take care of myself you know."

Johnny laughed. "You repeat yourself. Devil-boy said you said the same thing to him. Clearly you can't, by the way. You're so overworked, you can't even keep your eyes focused."

Peter couldn't argue with that. Now, that he was sitting down, he felt like he was three seconds away from passing out. "Neither of you get what I'm trying to do."

"Eh, I could hazard a guess, but I don't want you to punch me if I offend you," Johnny said with a shrug.

"Oh really? I hope you realize I'm way too tired to get offended," Peter said.

"Just shut up and watch your Star Trek. I'll lecture you in the morning," Johnny said, kicking his hip.

"Great, can't wait."

-.-

Peter fell asleep on the couch, but woke up in his bed. When he shuffled out to the kitchen, there was cinnamon toast sitting on the counter, next to a note scrawled on a torn piece of paper.

_I get that you wear yourself out so you don't dream when you sleep. But if you keep that up you're going to end up getting yourself killed. So. Take a few days off from being Spider-man. Please. _

_ -Johnny_

Peter shoved a piece of toast into his mouth, glowering at the note. Johnny was close enough to the truth, but that didn't make it any easier. Actually made it harder. Because if people could tell what was wrong with him, what he was trying to do...they'd start badgering him more and more. Johnny was one thing, but Daredevil had noticed. And he was aware of Daredevil's softer side, the side that cared and wanted to help, but even that side of him was rough, with its edges. He'd force Peter to relax if he had to, and that wasn't a point he wanted to reach.

So maybe he would take a night off.

And dream about Gwen, and Mary Jane, and Uncle Ben dying. Yeah. No.

He checked the clock, frowning. There was no way he was going to make it to work on time if he bothered to finish eating. The fact that Johnny had turned his alarm off was probably a good sign that he was trying to make Peter call in sick because otherwise he'd be late and subsequently fired. It had to be all part of the blond's plan. Huffing out a sigh, Peter flipped his phone open and called in for the day off. But there was no way he was going to let the whole day go to waste.

As soon as he was done eating, he put on the suit and headed out.

-.-

"Hear you called in sick," Matt said.

He was perched beside Peter on the top of some random building as he took a break from patrolling. Peter didn't bother to look at him. "So you're here to lecture me some more? When did you and Johnny get married and become my parents?"

"Haha," Matt said. "Running around all day has worsened your condition. Sometime in the next few hours, if not the next few minutes, I suspect you'll start micro-napping. I am not looking forward to cleaning up the messes you'll make."

"Dang, why bother paying for a doctor when I have you preaching in my ear all the time," Peter said, standing up.

Matt grabbed his wrist and tugged him back down, grip unrelenting. "Go home. You're at best, useless out here, and at worst, harmful to the people you're trying to save."

"So what do I do? Sleep? Give myself time to think and-"

For a moment, Peter wanted to tell him everything. Why he couldn't go home, why he couldn't sleep, why he had to wear himself out so dreaming wasn't a possibility. But then Matt was invading his space, crowding him against the edge of the rooftop.

"I get that you don't want to think anymore, but slowly killing yourself isn't the answer. You need rest," Matt said, his tone more gentle than any other time he had ever spoken to Peter. "So go get it, before you make things worse for all of us."

"But I'm doing more good out here than sitting alone at home," Peter said.

"Yeah, but how long is that going to last?" Matt asked. "How long before you fuck up and people die?"

"Shut up," Peter said, whirling away from him.

"What? No witty retort?"

Matt's words cut past his armor and echoed around inside him, rebounding off each other until his head was filled with nothing but doubt and a roaring cacophony in his ears. It wasn't until he registered Matt's hand on the back of his neck that he realized he was hunched over against the wall, a mixture of tight muscles and shaking limbs.

"You alright?"

"Clearly I'm not," Peter said, straightening up.

"You had a panic attack," Matt said flatly. "And admitted that you aren't alright. Will you go get some rest now?"

"Yeah, yeah," Peter said, trying and failing to clear his head.

Matt's lips were pressed in a hard line, as if resisting the desire to start lecturing him. "I'll stop by later tonight okay?"  
"My God, I can take care of myself just fine," Peter said. He wrapped his armor tight, locking down his nerves so that he could speak without his voice quivering. Not that it mattered when Matt could hear the way his heart galloped in his chest from some weird mixture of fear and anger.

"Go home."

Peter obeyed.

-.-

When he arrived back home, sleep was the furthest thing from his mind. Thoughts raced through his head, so he shut them down by writing a filler article Jameson wanted by the end of the week. And after that, he began watching some of the Star Trek DVDs that Johnny had left behind that morning. When he turned the last one off, it was only just past seven.

"So much for taking a day off," Matt said.

Peter whirled, heart thudding in his chest when he saw Daredevil perched on the window. "So much for spidey senses." He turned back around, tossing the remote to the other side of the couch and grabbing his laptop off the coffee table.

"Yeah well, I'm not exactly a threat," Matt said.

The man stepped into the room, window sliding shut behind him. "Can I catch a shower here?"

Peter stared at him. "Why? You're all rich and stuff. Don't you have some fancy shower with jets or something?"

"On the other side of town yes, but I'm here for the rest of the night," Matt said, hovering near the hallway that led to the bathroom.

"Wait, so you aren't even going to ask if you're welcome here, but you'll ask about using the shower? Really?" Peter shook his head and opened his laptop. "Go for it."

Matt left the room without further fanfare, allowing Peter to continue the article he'd been writing. It was infuriating, the way Matt and Johnny had designated themselves as his babysitters. He could take care of himself, he had for years.

Except that wasn't entirely true. He had Aunt May, still did in a way, though he did his best to make sure he didn't bring his 'superhero' problems to her on accident. Then again, it was getting harder and harder to tell the difference between what was a normal problem and what...wasn't. Gwen, Mary Jane? He felt their loss on an all too real, all to human level, but had lost them to his own mistakes as a hero. So he just didn't talk to her about it, which was weird and carved out a space in his chest that left him feeling lonely.

But who cared if he was lonely? He was still alive, still more than capable of taking care of himself. That was what counted. Only apparently not at all because Johnny and Matt decided it would be beneficial to be his parents or something.

"You going to sleep any time soon?"

Peter jerked. "How the heck do you keep sneaking up on me?"

"You keep zoning out, your heart rate almost decreases to the rate of a man in deep sleep," Matt said. He toweled out his wet red hair as he continued to talk around the couch, finally sitting next to him.

"You're wearing new clothes," Peter said, looking the man up and down. It was weird, seeing Daredevil in simple, casual clothes, and made him realize just how _large_ the other man was.

"Yes, I snuck in earlier and hid some clothes under the sink."  
"That's _really_ not okay. Or normal. You can't just break into my apartment like that," Peter said.

"Yes I can."

Peter's eyes narrowed. "Okay, just because you can doesn't mean you should."

"It's for your own good," Matt said. "Do you have any food?"

Peter shrugged, knowing Matt would feel the movement. "Probably. Haven't gotten paid this week so I couldn't buy much."

"Why do this then? Fight crime and try and hold a steady job. Try and stay afloat. You could just get a better job, if you had more time," Matt said.

"Look, just because I'm letting you stay here doesn't mean I want you to turn into my therapist," Peter said. He closed the laptop. He wasn't going to get any work done with Matt harassing him.

"I'll order pizza," Matt said, standing up. "Where's your phone?"

"On the wall, next to the fridge," Peter said.

Matt found it easily enough, placing an order for two large meat-lovers pizzas before rejoining Peter on the couch. "I'll pay."

"Don't need your charity," Peter said, but the fight was gone from his voice. Besides, who else got to hang out and eat pizza with Matt Murdock?  
"Not charity if I eat too," Matt said.

When Peter looked at him, he was looking back, eyes still covered by his red shades, but he was undoubtedly looking at him. "How do you do that? Look at me?"

"The same way I beat up muggers and rapists," Matt said. "I listen."  
"But _how?_"

"Look Peter, I'm not big on science like you are. I don't know how or why, I just accept the cards dealt to me and adapt," Matt said.

"Is this you trying to tell me to suck up whatever I'm feeling and move on?"

"No, this is me saying I don't care about science," Matt said. "I can't make you stop blaming yourself for the lives you lost. I'm not going to try."

"Then why are you here? All Johnny ever does is tell me I need to stop blaming myself, that they wouldn't want this for me. And I hate hearing that, but at least it means he cares."

"Like I said before. You'll end up doing more harm than good if you keep this up. I don't want you making my job harder."

Peter let out a harsh laugh. "Don't care about my well being at all?"

Matt's lips twitched up into something close to a smirk before flattening into a straight line. "Maybe a little bit."

"I hope so. I've only helped you five thousand times," Peter said, a smile threatening to break out over his face.

Matt stood up, drifting towards the door. "You kept track?" He opened the door before the delivery boy buzzed, paying him quickly before bringing the boxes to the coffee table.

Peter's mouth watered as the smell fully hit him. "One of those is for me right? Like the whole thing?"  
"Both are. I already ate and I know how fast you go through food." Matt flipped one of the boxes open and stole a pepperoni off the top. "And now I've had a bit so it doesn't count as charity." He sat down next to Peter after setting the boxes down on the table.

Something twisted in Peter's chest at the gesture, but he stifled it by shoving pizza into his mouth. He hadn't been able to afford such greasy deliciousness in months. "Uh, thanks."

Matt made a non-committal noise. For a little while longer, Peter was able to eat in peace, making his was through the first pizza, halfway through the second. And then Matt had to ruin it.

"After this, you're going to sleep. You could use a few solid hours of sleep. Preferably over eight."

"I think I'll pass," said Peter. He was half joking.

"Your body is falling apart," Matt continued.

"I feel fine-"

Matt's hand snapped out, seizing his chin and drawing him close. "I can hear the strain your heart is under. I can hear your body pushing to stay functioning when all it wants to do is give out and rest. I can hear the sluggish pound of your brain trying to stay awake when it is nearly impossible for it to do so. Your body is going to give out if you don't stop pursuing this passive aggressive death wish of yours. So eat your food and go. To bed."

Matt released his harsh grip. For a moment, Peter stared at him, but then he gave in and obeyed.

-.-

Or tried to. Every time his body began to relax into the warmth and comfort of sleep, his mind came alight with images of Gwen and Mary Jane, eyes lifeless, bodies like limp dolls. And he would come awake, heart pounding.

Matt hadn't left either, which meant he could hear the deadly cycle that Peter's mind and body could not escape. But he hadn't done anything, hadn't stormed in and demanded that he finally go to sleep. Maybe he knew Peter couldn't help it, could hear the attempts at deep breathing exercises and meditation, interrupted repeatedly by images he couldn't forget.

The other man didn't do anything. Just sat on the couch like a blind guardian. Maybe that was what he was.

-.-

Peter didn't bother pulling on his suit the next night. Matt had left a note that morning saying he'd be by later with food, and he had a feeling that if he did leave, Matt would just hunt him down and drag him back.

So he stayed inside after work, reorganizing some research for a story Jameson wanted next week. Some election, wasn't important, at least not to Peter, but the fact that he was finally being trusted to write an article that would be rigorously fact checked meant there was a potential pay raise on the horizon. It was oddly comforting, being able to focus on his work without worrying about protecting people. It was a luxury he hadn't been able to indulge in for...years.

However relaxing it was though, there was a nagging sensation at the back of his mind, telling him that he needed to go out and be productive. There was a feeling that he wasn't doing _enough_. He did his best to ignore it though, and enjoy his forced vacation.

His phone buzzed on the table. He snatched it up, sandwiching it between his ear and his shoulder as he continued to type. "Hey."

"I'm picking up take out. What do you want?"

"What? You don't have to keep feeding me, Matt. It's kinda weird."

"You've already proven you can't take care of yourself, so I will," Matt said. "So, pick something."

"Chinese."

"I'll be by in fifteen."

Peter sighed and hung up, letting the phone slide off his shoulder and lap and onto the couch cushion. By fifteen apparently Matt meant about five because the man was hovering in his window with the food, still in his suit from work.

"Did anyone see you?" Peter asked, getting up and closing the window behind him.

"I am not an idiot. Here's your food," Matt said. He handed the food over, the smell making Peter's stomach rumble. Like before, he had ordered more than what a normal man would be able to ingest, knowing just how fast Peter's metabolism was. As he began to eat, Matt sitting across from him as he loosened tie, he realized that if anyone was going to know what Peter's body needed best, it would be Matt. The man could hear every process his body was going through, would know the sound of a body moving too slow or too fast, would be able to, as he said early, tell if a man was dying.

Tell if he was dying.

"I'm sorry." The words popped out of his mouth before he had a chance to think them over, and Matt tilted his head to the side.

"For what?"

Peter set his chopsticks down, pushing away the last few bites of his food so he wouldn't be distracted. "I uh...for being so mad at you and Johnny for trying to help. I really...am thankful for what you're doing, I'm just having trouble accepting it I guess."

"I didn't think it was going to be easy to get you to get over yourself and accept our help. But now you are," Matt said with a shrug. "And things will get better from here on out."

"I thought you didn't care about my well being," Peter said,

"I am not as heartless as I like to pretend, but let's just keep that between us, shall we?" Matt grabbed the most empty box and plucked the sticks out of Peter's hands, shoving both into the refrigerator before going back over and sitting across from him. "Bed time. You have a lot of sleep to catch up on before your body is going to be even close to normal again."

"I..."

"Especially since you spent most of last night staring at your ceiling."

Peter looked away, hating how penetrating Matt's stare could be, even through his glasses and the fog of his blindness. "I tried, alright? It's just...I can't most nights."

"Why not?"

The younger squirmed under the gaze, the tone, then wrenched himself away from the table, pacing around the small kitchen area. "Because I'm paranoid and because I have nightmares and between the two it's like I'm doomed to never sleep longer than a few seconds because eventually, one of them is waking me up, and I do want to sleep you know. I just can't."

"With the paranoia, I'm sure my presence did not help last night. I can leave if you'd like," Matt said. "I would prefer to make sure you sleep but if my presence only makes it worse-"

"That's not it," Peter said with a shake of his head. "You made it a bit better to be honest. You're not a threat. Guess it's why my spidey sense doesn't go off when you pop into my apartment at random."

Matt's lips tried to twitch up into a smirk, but aborted the mission halfway through. "Then I suppose I will stay. Your couch is comfy enough I suppose."

Guilt stung at Peter's gut, worming its way through the rest of his body. "No, it's okay. You shouldn't have to put yourself through anything like this for my sake."

"It isn't a problem," Matt said. "Perhaps I sleep better knowing there is another like me watching my back."

Peter offered a weak smile even though Matt couldn't see it. "Thanks, I think."

"You're stalling though. Go to bed. I'll stay here; you don't have to worry about anything happening to you. I won't let it."

Peter began to drift towards the hallway that led down to his room. "Are you sure?"

Matt tracked his movements easily. "Yes. You're safe Peter."

"What about the nightmares?"

"That's something you have to deal with on your own."

On some level, Peter appreciated the man's honesty. Johnny was Peter's best friend, but he always, unflinchingly, promised Peter that things would get better, that he'd do what he could to help Peter with his nightmares, despite the fact that he had to know there was actually nothing he could do. Matt? Matt was just honest, and that was worth more than Peter could articulate. He knew Matt wouldn't pull punches even if he thought Peter was in a delicate position. He would plow on relentlessly because he knew that nothing less than that was acceptable. Nothing less than that would earn him Peter's trust.

"Sleep well Peter."

-.-

Peter did fall asleep quicker. That he noticed. Matt's assurance, his knowledge of Matt's invaluable abilities, made his mind easier to quiet and ease. He was safe, he didn't need to have all senses on high alert just to protect himself. He could relax for a few hours because Matt would take care of everything. Or at least he would in the real world, because not long after sleep claimed him, so too did the nightmares, images of Gwen and Mary Jane's broken bodies flickering through his mind rapid-fire, taunting him, ridiculing him, hating him for not being better, for not being _good enough._

He woke up with a startled cry choking itself in his throat and tears fighting at the edges of his eyes, but he pushed both away. Eventually, he calmed down enough to make it to the kitchen and pour himself a glass of water, noting that the light was still on in the main room. Matt didn't stir from his position on the couch, fingers moving steadily over the Braille on one of his court cases. After another five glasses of water, his panic had all but vanished. He didn't know what to say or do. Apologize for preventing Matt from sleeping because his heartbeat was erratic and irregular from panic and pain? It would be foolish to bother.

"You going to attempt to fall asleep again or have you given up?" Matt's voice was quiet, but it was the only sound, and not difficult to hear.

"You won't let me give up trying. It's why you're here in the first place." Peter moved towards the couch, dropping to sit down next to him. "But honestly? I doubt I'll be falling asleep."

"You're paranoid. You feel unsafe, feel like you can't ever let your guard down because if you do, someone you care about will die," Matt said, fingers never ceasing their movement. "But we can't save everyone."

Peter bit his lip, Matt's words rolling over themselves as he thought. "So I guess you're a mind reader now too?"  
"If I could read minds, that'd be cheating. I may not be a genius like you, but I am not without simple logic." Matt was grinning, one of the first genuine expressions outside _pissed off _and _angry_ that Peter had seen.

"So what's the solution?" Peter asked, legs folding up beneath him. "How do you stay...alert when you're plagued by all the same thoughts as me?"

"I can't turn my hearing abilities off," Matt said. He set the pile of papers down on the coffee table and turned towards Peter. "Even in my sleep, my body keeps track of where the danger is. You should count on your own senses to protect you as you sleep. Let yourself relax and let your instincts take care of you."

"Huh. Way easier said than done," Peter mused.

"Never said it was easy. We didn't get to chose an easy lifestyle," Matt said.

The words were too similar to what Uncle Ben had said so many years ago, and it made his chest tense and ache. He shifted a bit, resting his chin on a propped up knee.

"I don't remember the last time I relaxed," he said, wanting the conversation away from whatever it was Matt had tried to get out.

"Go see a massage therapist," Matt said.

Peter rolled his eyes at the other vigilante even though the man couldn't see him. "Yes, because I am just _rolling _in money, aren't I?"

Matt stood up and set his stack of papers down on the table, then prodded Peter's exposed shin with a foot. "Turn onto your back. I'm pretty good with my hands."

Peter couldn't help but laugh at the man's words and his deadpan expression. "Sorry Matt, wasn't aware we were filming a porno. Where's the camera, I want to make sexy faces at it."

"Ha ha, very funny. Now roll over," Matt said, the barest hint of a smile twitching at his lips.

Peter tossed the pillow he had been hugging down and rolled onto his stomach, muscles tensing further when Matt slung his legs over the younger's thighs. It was too reminiscent of being pinned down by various evildoers, but Matt didn't say anything, despite how he had to have heard the way his heartbeat increased. They barely fit on the couch. Peter was wiry and thin, but he did have muscle, he just hid it well. Matt on the other hand was all broad shoulders and muscle and had to squeeze to fit.

But then his hands and fingers sunk into the tight knots that tangled together all over Peter's back and Peter...just stopped thinking. Maybe it was just a skill blind people excelled in, he didn't know, he didn't care, but the older man was able to work out the knots in a flare of blinding pain, only to assuage it with the perfect amount of pressure until he was limp on the couch.

"Better?" Matt asked quietly, hands running down to rest at Peter's lower back, leaning forward a bit.

Peter arched and groaned as something popped and clicked back into place. "Yeah, amazing, I think I'll just sleep here."

"As long as you're sleeping." Matt moved off of him, shuffling his papers back into a case. "Am I carrying you back to your bed?"

Peter made an incomprehensible noise and rubbed his face into the pillow, giving a startled shout when Matt suddenly grabbed him and tossed him over his shoulder. He found that, after Matt dumped him onto the bed, and despite the way Matt had startled him, the sleepy lethargic feeling in his limbs didn't go away, and the next sensible action seemed to be to stretch out on the bed.

"Will you sleep now?" Matt asked, stepping carefully back to the doorway.

"Yeah. You got magic hands," Peter said with a contented sigh.

"Good."

Matt didn't say anything else, just shut the door. Peter watched the thin line of light under the door flicker out, signaling that the older had decided to call it a night and sleep on the couch. Somewhere in his mind, he realized that a line had been crossed, but then sleep and comfort wrapped tight around him and he was gone.

-.-

Matt was patient, Peter gave him that. The massage assuaged his nightmares for two nights, but then they returned with a vengeance. When Peter emerged to grab a glass of water, Matt already had one and was guiding him back to his bed where he straddled his thighs and went to work, massaging his tense muscles until exhaustion combined with eased tension sent him back to sleep.

A week passed in such a manner, Matt returning each night to make sure Peter didn't decide to go out and be a hero. He missed it, he felt useless, but he couldn't help but admit that an honest night's rest felt amazing. And so did Matt's hands. Johnny called three times to check up on him, surprised to hear that Matt was still looking out for him.

Peter was surprised too. It felt strangely like Matt was worming his way into the younger's life, but was doing it in such an unobtrusive way that neither of them had really noticed. At least until Johnny mentioned it. As Matt shoved a glass of cold water into his hand and prodded him towards the bed, he realized, with sudden shocking clarity what was happening.

Matt was becoming a permanent fixture. In under a week, he had weaseled on in and become something Peter liked having around, and that never ended well. People he was close to...didn't last long.

That night, Matt's hands worked over his back for barely a minute before he heaved a sigh and slid off the bed, padding over to the window instead. To anyone else, it would look like he was gazing out at the city, but Peter knew those eyes were seeing nothing. He wondered what image his ears were painting. "Something changed. Your heart rate is all over the place, and I seem to be making you nervous. What's wrong?"

"Your hands aren't that magical," Peter offered after a moment.

"They would be if you trusted me."

"I do trust you."

"That's a lie," Matt said.

"I hate being friends with a living lie detector," Peter shot back, flopping over onto his back and staring up at his ceiling. "You know, I don't really have friends."

"You have coworkers. And Johnny. Those are friends," Matt said.

"I guess. But really? My friends are all dead," Peter said. "The people who matter are dead."

"Oh."

Peter grabbed a pillow and shoved it over his face, sighing into it. The tone of Matt's voice said he finally understood. Realized what he had done, realized what he was doing.

"I don't really care about you if it helps any," Matt said.

Peter lobbed the pillow at the older man, but he knocked it out of the way without turning. "That's bullshit."

"Not really. You think you're the only one who's lost people who are important to them? You think you're the only one who can count their friends on one hand?" Matt shook his head as he folded his arms across his chest. "I don't give a damn about you because I can't afford to. And you can't afford to care about me. But I still don't want to clean up your messes. Once you're back on your feet, I won't be hanging around."

"Wow, don't worry about hurting my feelings," Peter said with a bitter, short laugh.

"You'd rather I hurt your feelings than actually care about you."

It was depressing how true that was.

"So what then? It's not like we can really erase what we've become, right?"

Matt's lips twisted into a smirk. "We've spent a week together-"

"Dude, you gave me several massages. And carried me to bed. That's like, the start of an awesome homoerotic porno," Peter said.

"So what? You want me to fuck you?"

Peter sat up, a sarcastic retort at the edge of his lips, but he swallowed it at the last moment. "I never said that. I'm just saying with all that there's gotta be some emotional attachment right? Even if neither of us want it."

Matt shrugged. "Wouldn't matter either way. Nothing's going to happen."

"I guess not," Peter said, easing back down to stare up at the ceiling. "Can't afford to make friends of any kind."

"You're young though, sure you've got needs," Matt said.

"Oh my God, please do not try and have that conversation with me," Peter said with a snort of laughter.

"I'm just being honest. You can't live your life in total seclusion," Matt said.

"Why not? That's what you do."

Matt's silence was stubborn. Peter didn't even know a thing like that was possible. "But I'm older."

"Yeah, okay," Peter said. "Not to sound like a whiny teenager, but I have been through way too much for you to pull that card. I've seen just as much as you have if not more and I-"

He cut himself off again and moved his arm up to cover his eyes, closing them tight. Matt stirred by his perch at the window, a few steps taking him closer to the bedside, but when Peter risked a look at the man, he was still staring out the window with a sightless gaze.

"You know, I never did dig into your past," Matt said. "I never bothered, even when I figured out who you really were. Didn't see a point. Your head is in a good place, for the most part."

"That a round about way of saying you trust me or something like that?" Peter asked.

"Maybe. I don't know. What I'm saying is that I don't know what you've seen Peter. I know your real identity, but I don't know you. That's an odd place for someone to be."

Something spasmed in Peter's chest as he realized how right Matt was. Johnny knew his real identity, but he also knew every oh so fun detail about his past. Same with Aunt May. Everyone else just knew Spider-Man, and didn't know anything about the baggage attached to Peter Parker. Nobody knew Peter Parker without the baggage.

Matt knew he had it, but he hadn't gone digging like everyone else. And that...was strangely liberating.

"So what now?" Peter asked.

"I don't know," Matt said with a shrug, moving back towards the door. "It's up to you I suppose. I just thought you should know that you have a clean slate with me. And I am far from the judging type."

He didn't wait for Peter's response, instead slipping out the door and letting it close behind him.

-.-

There was something Matt had said that stuck with him though, and arose when he was in the shower the following night. He had gone to work, just regular work, hadn't even worn his suit under his clothes like he normally did. Matt would be by in ten minutes with food. It was becoming routine. But something Matt had said had stuck with him.

That he was young. That he should have needs. Physical needs. Like any other 22-year-old man would have.

But he didn't have them. He stared down at his limp cock, and realized with a sudden moment of clarity that he hadn't jerked one off in months, maybe even a year. He just hadn't felt the need to, hadn't even had a steamy dream to give him morning wood. And if that just wasn't the most depressing thing ever. By the time he realized the tragedy of his situation, he only had five minutes before Matt was supposed to show, but he couldn't resist just trying.

After three minutes of stroking all over his length, toying with the head, everything, he realized he was pretty much hopeless. He was a lost cause with no way to get stress relief. He shut the water off once he was done washing, drying with a towel and pulling on a pair of loose sweats and an old t-shirt. It wasn't all that surprising to find Matt sitting at his small table already digging into a box of Chinese food. He gestured with his chopsticks. "Bought you some."

"Thanks." Peter sat down and settled into his food, his stomach feeling like lead from his realization in the shower.

"Usually when I say this I'm joking, but I think I can hear your depression," Matt said in between bites of food. He set his chopsticks down, rubbing the bridge of his nose beneath his glasses with his free hand. "Did something happen?"

"I tried to get off in the shower. Realized I haven't gotten off in a year and I can't get my dick hard. Talk about a miserable existence." The words popped out of Peter's mouth without much, or rather any, permission, and he could feel himself flushing after he registered what he said.

But Matt had gone back to eating. "That is a bit depressing."

Peter glanced up at him. "That's it?"

"Do you want me to help you with that too?"

Peter snorted out a laugh, almost choking on his food. "I've never been propositioned like that before. It's not like I want a pity screw, or something stupid like that."

"That would require for me to actually pity you," Matt said, setting his chopsticks down and looking across the table directly at him.

"Are we really discussing this right now?" Peter asked.

Matt shrugged. "If you want to, we can."

"Thought you wanted to live in seclusion or something," Peter said.

"I can, but I'd rather not. Not many people I'm willing to lay with though, as they tend to end up dead or betraying me," Matt said, tone nonchalant.

Peter opened his mouth to reply, but then his mind began to catch up with Matt had told him. "But you trust me? You're willing to sleep with me? I'm not even gay."

"But you don't seem too freaked out by my proposition as you called it," Matt said. "Are you just desperate?"

Peter's eyes widened. "Really? No, I'm not desperate but it's like you said! I don't have anyone. I don't feel safe with _anyone_. I feel like I'm going to get everyone I care about killed! I'm not some desperate...whatever!"

"I didn't say you were," Matt said. "I just meant that perhaps there is no one else for you to trust but me and Johnny, so perhaps your sexuality is not a factor. Perhaps it is a matter of trust."

"So now what?" Peter asked, ducking his head back down and shoveling more food into his mouth.

"I am willing to try whatever you want if you think it will help. But you can't allow this to ruin our working relationship, or whatever you care to call it," Matt said. "But it isn't something I'm doing out of pity. It's something I'd benefit from as well. But we won't do anything if it makes you uncomfortable."

Peter couldn't help but let out a burst of nervous laughter. "Count on you to make a conversation about becoming fuck buddies sound like a court case you're trying to close."

"You're more important than a court case, Peter," Matt said. "I know I said that your ability to function correctly when we're out doing what we do is the most important thing, and it still is, but you are a person I would possibly put the label of friend on. Your well-being in that regard is also important to me."

Matt stood up, folding his box of Chinese closed and throwing it in the trash before leaning on the counter and waiting for Peter to do the same. As Peter began to brush past him, Matt's broad hand touched his hip. The warmth made Peter's breath catch, and for a moment, he wondered if he should be more concerned by the fact that Matt was very much male.

When Matt bent towards him, Peter thought he was going to be kissed. But then Matt was nuzzling along his neck and jaw, breathing him in as his hand began to stroke back and forth along his hip. The first stirs of arousal began low in his gut, and he was so unused to the sensation that he started back out of Matt's grip. He wasn't sure, but there was possibly a look of disappointment on Matt's face.

"Sorry, it wasn't bad, I just...was surprised, I think," Peter said.

"I can stop. We can go watch a movie if you would like," Matt said.

"Yeah, probably a good idea," Peter said. He would probably never admit that he practically fled the room to find a movie to watch.

In the end he only had Star Trek tapes that he was in the mood for, too jumpy to want to concentrate on something new. Matt sat down beside him on the couch while Peter pulled up is laptop and began to start another article. "Are movies really enjoyable for you?"

"I can hear the dialogue," Matt said with a shrug. "That's all I need."

Peter shut his laptop, biting his lip as he set it down on the coffee table. "I can tell you what's going on if you want. I've only seen these a thousand times."

Matt's lips turned up in a sort of half smile. "Sure."

Peter folded his legs beneath him and leaned a bit closer, describing as many actions as he could. He learned by the end of the first episode that Matt was able to tell the difference between certain character's gaits so he didn't have to elaborate on that. About three episodes in, one of Matt's hands slid across the couch to rest on Peter's thigh, and at first he started away, the odd bit of arousal making him feel uncomfortable.

But he didn't move the hand, just leaving it there as a gentle weight. Before long, Peter's head was resting on Matt's shoulder, his eyes barely focused on the screen as he continued to describe most of the actions from memory. When Matt's hand began to rub soothing circles into his thigh, and the warm feeling in his gut returned, he barely stirred, instead nuzzling into Matt's neck. Matt didn't feel the same as Gwen or Mary Jane had. Where they had been soft, with beautiful curves that he loved running his hands over, Matt was a solid, warm, dependable weight.

Gwen and Mary Jane were far from weak. They were strong, but they didn't have the abilities Matt did. They couldn't stand toe to toe with Peter's enemies and come out alive. Matt wasn't going to die just for being around him.

"Ah!" Peter's legs spread open when the back of the man's knuckles grazed his half-hard cock through the material of his sweat pants, his main touch still on his thigh. "Matt..."

Matt's lips pressed to his forehead but he didn't move his hand any higher. "Do what you need. I'm not going to leave."

Peter flushed a bit, but hid his gaze into Matt's neck as his own hand moved down to flit around the edge of his sweatpants. It had been so long since he had last gotten hard that it was almost painful. He supposed on some level he should've been more embarrassed by what he was about to do, but it was comforting to know that Matt couldn't really see. He could relax enough, lose himself enough to feel pleasure if he knew there was someone keeping him safe.

The first touch on his cock made his breath hiss out from between his lips, and he bit into the flesh of Matt's corded neck as he began to stroke. It was dry without lube, but was still the most he had felt in a long time.

Matt's hand continued to stroke at his thigh as Peter played with his length, finally turning his head to spit into his palm to make it slicker. Once he did that, his hips began to jerk up into his hand. Moaning softly, he turned his head further into Matt's neck, nibbling and sucking at the skin there.

"Slow down a bit," Matt ordered quietly. "Don't want it to be over too soon, do you?"

Peter shuddered and did as ordered, movements only stalling when Matt pulled away. Before he could voice a protest, he was being tugged between Matt's legs, reclining back on his chest as Matt's hands returned to his thighs, rubbing up and down as they had before. It took a moment, but soon Peter was back to pumping his cock, lipping at Matt's throat.

"I can hear it," Matt said lowly. "You're heart rate increasing, your blood pounding. Been too long for you, hasn't it?"

Peter wasn't sure if he tried to give a coherent answer, instead just stroking a bit faster despite Matt's earlier command. On some level, he wondered if he should be worried at how easy it was to do something he hadn't done in so long with Matt wrapped around him, but the pleasure wiped almost all thought out. And Matt's low rumbling voice in his ear just made his arousal spike even higher.

"You're so quiet," he murmured, lips pressed tight against Peter's ear. "It's been so long, and you're so quiet. You don't have to be afraid, Peter, I'm right here."

Peter tossed his head back, letting a loud, sucking gasp escape his lips, stroking faster at Matt's words. "M-Matt..."

The older continued to whisper in his ear, soft, soothing words that did nothing to calm his racing heart as he spilled over the edge, hips jerk and legs trembling as he writhed in the man's grasp. As he began to come back into himself, he realized Matt hadn't ceased rubbing his thighs, up and down motions that kept him calm and relaxed as he came down from his pleasure induced high.

"You're quite relaxed now," Matt said with a bit of amusement in his voice. "But you might want to put yourself away."

Peter flushed, hurriedly following the suggestion. "Yeah...yeah." Once he was settled, Matt wrapped his arms around Peter's stomach, keeping his back pressed to the warm chest. "Is this okay?"

"If you're comfortable, it is," Matt said.

It was scary, how relaxed he felt, how close to sleep he felt. "Forgot what that felt like."

Matt's hands rubbed at his stomach, slid under his t-shirt and continued to rub. Peter pressed back to continue to nuzzle the older's neck, sighing against the skin as he began to relax further. Matt's thumbs rubbed at his hipbones, and that was the last Peter remembered before slipping off to sleep.

-.-

Three weeks later found Peter fighting side by side with Daredevil. After that night (Peter liked to call it the Masturbation Debacle), Matt didn't touch him in a sexual manner again. He still hung around the apartment, and every once in awhile, a warm, broad hand would stroke down his back and trail over his hip. Other than that, there was nothing.

But despite that, he felt immensely better. He slept better with Matt in the other room, and he supposed that alone was what made him feel better. At some point, Matt said he'd let him go out and fight like he used to. Peter supposed he should be disturbed that it was so simple and natural for him to obey Matt and follow his advice, but if he was benefiting, there was no sense in disobeying.

"That's the last of them," Peter said, cracking the thug's head against the wall.

Matt glanced around. "Yes it is. Shall we head back? It's late?"

"Yeah, sure," Peter said. Adrenaline was pumping hot through him as he followed after Matt at a distance, both of them winding their way back to Peter's apartment and slipping in through the window, one after the other.

Without really thinking, Peter ripped off his mask, grabbed Matt's chin between his hands and pressed a hard kiss to his lips. One hand reached behind him to shut the blinds and then he was tugging Matt further into the room, never letting their lips part as his tongue dipped in for a taste. Eventually, Matt pulled back, hands steadying them both as they rested on Peter's hips.

"I'd prefer we talk about this," Matt said. His voice was clouded heavily with arousal.

"Yeah, sure," Peter said. "You presented a fantastic case Matt Murdock. Let's be fuck buddies."

Matt's lip curled up. "Not what I meant but I suppose that'll do for now."

"How about we screw and then we can talk," Peter said.

"Sounds good to me."

Matt had made a good point earlier. They didn't have to be best friends to trust each other enough to let go and find the pleasure and release they needed. It didn't really occur to Peter to be freaked out by the fact that Matt was very much male. They trusted each other, and that was enough.


End file.
